Costumes that stick and sour
by NintendoNoir1
Summary: Based off the Halloween sketch, "A Costume to your face". What if Maggie had ran away when everyone tried to pressure her into reversing the witch's curse? What if everyone was stuck as their costumes and faced with consequences? Amateur piece, simple one-shots, yet all still fun for Halloween!


Chapter 1 - Putting down the wolf -

It was a dark, autumn night with a cool breeze and the full moon hanging well lit in the sky...and it has been for the past few weeks. The cool breeze has yet to have dropped a degree to indicate an upcoming of winter. The moon not only has remained full but remained in place of the sky, denying the sun. The citizens haven't traded their costumes in exchange for their usual clothes. As well as the calendar, not exchanging the page Oct. 31st for that of Nov. 1st.

All of which said and done...because of a witch's curse. Piss off one of the devil's brides and Springfield has transformed into a playground of his...

**(Evergreen Terrace...) **

Bart Simpson continued to cause trouble throughout Springfield. Albeit in a more hairy and confused state. Running down the street was Bart himself and his pet canine, Santa's little Helper. The dog and his werewolf of an owner raced, SLH in the lead. Bart would be agitated, if the lycan child wasn't focus on getting away with his prize - a severed arm in his mouth, and the now crippled owner chasing behind him. Said owner was former police chief Wiggum, confined to the look of Jared the subway guy...now without a left leg.

"Gimme me back my leg, you mutts!" Shouted the man with a decently balanced weight. These words merely caused Bart to halt, growl and turn around. As soon as Jared/Wiggum was now in his sight, he pounced at him. His victim yelped as the ten year old werewolf mauled him, his teeth gnawing at him.

Meanwhile, Santa's Little Helper merely kept running, running all the way to the Simpson's household.

He entered the home, wagging his tail as he met the family he loved, regardless of their forms.

"Where's Bart, buddy?" Asked the matriarch of the house- Marge.

Due to the curse, Marge was entrapped in the form of a skeleton. During the weeks that have passed, the flesh that formerly stuck to her face now rotted away. Her hive of hair remained, yet decays slowly by the strands. SLH salivates at the sight of her bones.

The family dog set a few barks that basically hummed the phrase, "I don't know."

As if by magic, Bart came running in through the dogging door. He ran by the dog and his mother, snatching Marge's femur, much to her dismay. As his mother collapsed behind him, Bart headed way to the dog bed. Curled up and gnawing on the femur.

Entering the room was Homer, the newfound decapitated patriarch of the house. Cursed along with his own costume, Homer's head became detached from his body, yet still conscious and mobile held the head in one arm as if it were newborn. In the other hand was a Duff beer with a silly straw, "feeding" the decapitated Homer.

He saw his resting wolf of a son gnawing on what was his wife's bone of a leg. His boy's red shirt torn all over, stained with blood that wasn't blending in due to contrasting shades of red. Blue jean shorts that were now missing, the boy's pride only hidden by the conservative mess of wolf's fur. Even if that weren't the case, his eyes wouldn't fall on that due to the attention drawing fangs snarling at the world.

"Boy! Looking at the mess you made!" Exclaimed Homer.

"Grrrr." Bart responded with, irritated by his father.

"Never mind." Homer said lightly, frighten and backing off.

The pet cat of the house, Snowball II, approached the feral boy. His paw reached forward, pawing at the femur in the other's hands.

"Grrrrr!" Bart growled aggressively, guarding his territory and scaring away the cat.

"Hrmmm." Marge worried, "Homer, he's doing that again."

"Should we get a doctor or a vet by this point?" Homer asked his wife, unsure.

The two parents were by a loud bang, Bart's face penetrated externally. His eye sent flying off and landing in a drink glass. Left part of his face sent off underneath the television. His right side of his face sent at Homer's feet. And his chin sent and bonking Snowball II on the head. Though in her collapsed state, Marge's mouth remained agape at the whole situation.

Her eyes follow from her son's newly corpse and the direction that his parts were fired off from...her eyes falling upon her daughter, Lisa! Having dressed as the scientist Einstein on Halloween, Lisa's usual hair was replaced with a bizarre display of grey hair. Donning her lip was a mustache of such color. Her clothes was a grey colored suit that could never be changed. And in her left hand was a revolver, still smoking from the barrel.

"Lisa, what did you do?!" Marge exclaimed.

"Ze zilver bullet. Only thing to kill ze werewolf." Lisa explained as if it were obvious, her voice laced with a thick German accent.

"You killed your brother!" Screeches Homer, dumbfounded...even more.

"Two weeks, Dad." Lisa held up two fingers, "He was like zhis after only two weeks. He would've only gotten worse."

The room goes silent for a second. Homer and Marge frown. Santa's little helper whimpers. Lisa looked at Bart's carcass glumly.

"First Maggie runs away." Lisa murmurs to herself.

"Then Bart goes wild and crazy." Homer does the same in suit.

"Now my baby boy's dead." Marge whimpers and sobs to herself, "This curse is nothing but hell!"

While Marge continued to sob, Lisa and Homer nodded as if to agree with such words.

And this was only there house. If only they had a clue as to what exactly was going on the outside for everyone. Converted costumes causing nothing but problems. Even the likes of Lisa's Einstein brain couldn't comprehend such catastrophe.

Lisa gazed out the window, eyes falling upon the full moon that would never go away. "Ze wolf's won't be filling the dark tonight."

**The End...for now. **


End file.
